After purchasing The Van, I spent a year and a half tearing her apart and turning this hippy missile into a home.
I actually contemplated buying a BMW until I discovered The Van down Route 6 in Marseilles, Illinois. Could you imagine…I cringe a bit.
That year was a pivotal time for me and the crossroads of my life. I was just beginning to get my feet wet in the waters of adulthood, inching ever so slowly, but never able to fully commit to the plunge. I know this is a bit cliché to say, but a voice deep within my subconscious kept me at bay. Don’t do it, don’t you dare keep that job/marry that man/buy that house/have that baby/write that on your calendar/buy that…”
It was the oddest thing, it truly was. I spent a great portion of my youth and early adult years, just so utterly lost. I was on the launching pad of life, the countdown getting shorter, and I was sure I would blast off into space. But what I knew deep down, was shooting up right then and there into the universe with so many things left to do would eventually bring me crashing down.
You see, the rocket is you. The fuel would be the things which keep you going; your wants, your needs, the things you wish to accomplish. If you fill the rocket up with fals hopes and dreams, one will eventually exhaust all energy to keep moving and spiral back down. If you know anything about rockets, they never land back at the launching pad. You may never be able to start over and crash right back into theose waters we were once so eager to plunge into.
So here I am, looking up at the sky, wondering if I was making the right decision. I was beginning to feel safe, the routine my life had become was a bit warming. I looked at The Van from my father’s driveway, still so much left to to do. Here are a few thoughts which crossed my mind:
-Just a little more cash
-I have to visit “blah,blah,blah”
-One more weekend at the hole in the wall with the people who I call friends..
Maybe he will eventually love me
After the spring/fall/summer/winter…
This job could be a career
I said to myself, “Fuck it.”
I went through all my belongings, compressed them into three storage bins, and handed them to my mother. I often did this when heading out on the road, it wasn’t the first time I had left home, yet I knew this time would be distinct. I had conditioned my mother to gracefully take these boxes. “I’ll be okay Ma, I can take care of myself.” She always worried, especially when I didn’t call. When I don’t call, it means something is going on and I have never been able to lie to her. So by not calling, I was avoiding telling her the situation completely. Love you Ma.
I also burned a lot of shit. Ladies, what is the only reason which leads us to dowsing items in gasoline and lighting a match to them? Yes, I was the resentful girlfriend burning every picture and anything attached to the relationship.
I sat on the couch in my father’s living room chain smoking cigarettes the whole morning, a trait I am sure I acquired from my late grandmother. I had no urge to have anyone present to wave me off. I wanted to depart in a quiet manner and I did as I put The Van in gear and crunched out of the driveway. I cried like a pansy from the moment I threw The Van in gear and the whole route to Magnolia, Mississippi.
What I’m trying to get around to is you are the ultimate factor in how your life pans out. We find ourselves at forks in the road in which fate turns its head. It’s you baby, all you.
Right now, I’m sure whoever is reading this, is either sixty years old really wondering when life had passed them by, a wife who never visited the vineyards of Italy, a twenty-something stuck at the crossroads, or someone who is sitting in their van watching the rain leak through the smashed in driver’s side door.
It’s never too late, for anyone of you. You are alive, better than most people. As for the van dwelling freak, you smell, go take a shower.
GROW SOME FUCKING BALLS